


Inebriation

by suganegg



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Come Eating, Drunk Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spit As Lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-25 15:53:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19748920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suganegg/pseuds/suganegg
Summary: Yan Qing and Izou hookup.





	Inebriation

**Author's Note:**

> for a little setting context, i imagine these two would initially hookup at one of chaldea's many assassin drinking parties; i'd originally included that scenario at the beginning, but i ended up deleting it so the fic became very medias res. anyway, i hope you enjoy!

Yan Qing and Izou don’t wait for the automatic door to slide open all the way before they’re stumbling into Yan Qing’s room together. The metal scrapes against Yan Qing’s side as he squeezes through, but he barely processes the sensation with how he’s focused on the way that Izou’s pawing at his belt. They’re drunk, and the way that the heady smell of alcohol is clinging to their bodies makes Yan Qing feel like he’s only getting drunker.

Yan Qing steers Izou’s shoulders and presses him against a wall; their mouths are on one another’s immediately, kissing like they mean to devour each other. He can taste the sweet flavor of the sake they’d been drinking as he licks inside Izou’s mouth, and he wishes that he’d had the foresight to bring a jar back with them—he wants to lap that liquor directly from Izou’s lips.

The two of them part, breathing heavily, and before Yan Qing finishes saying, “On the bed,” he’s already pulling Izou in that direction. Izou collapses backwards onto the mattress with an undignified _oof,_ and Yan Qing clambers on top of him almost immediately so that his thighs straddle either side of Izou’s hips. All the rapid movement makes the edges of the room start to spin, and to steady himself Yan Qing puts his hands on top of Izou’s chest and focuses on the place where his collar has slipped to the side. It’s an oddly transfixing sight, the slight peek of collarbone that’s visible. 

“Hey,” Izou’s words are slurred on the edges and it makes his accent thicker. “Focus up.”

“You have somewhere else to be?” Yan Qing likes people he can rile up, and Izou especially seems like the type who’s fun to mess with.

Izou huffs indignantly, but still reaches up and slides a hand through Yan Qing’s smooth hair before pulling his head down. They meet in a messy, open-mouthed kiss that lacks any sort of tenderness or finesse. Izou’s stubble scrapes across Yan Qing’s jaw and the rough sensation goes straight to his cock and turns him on; Yan Qing moans as he presses himself closer to Izou—not caring at all about how he’s going to get beard burn— and deepens their kiss. 

Both of Izou’s hands are in Yan Qing’s hair now, and as he runs his fingers through it he carelessly pulls large sections free from the ponytail holder. Yan Qing, meanwhile, slips his hands under the fabric of Izou’s scarf and into his kosode to run his palms across the hot skin of Izou’s chest. His fingers brush against one of Izou’s nipples and Yan Qing tugs on it, to which Izou groans into Yan Qing’s mouth as his hips jerk upwards. Yan Qing can feel Izou’s erection pressing against his own and he grinds against it, the sensation electric.

They pull apart, panting, with a gossamer thread of drool connecting their mouths together. Yan Qing’s hair hangs in a mess around his face and shoulders now, so he reaches behind his head and unclasps the ponytail holder; it falls to the floor with a metallic clatter and bounces somewhere out of sight. He looks down at Izou: his scarf has been jostled and his kosode has been pushed open so that the muscles of his chest are exposed, but there’s still too many clothes in the way.

Yan Qing reaches for the hem of that scarf but pauses for a second and just feels the fabric with his fingertips; it’s soft, almost surprisingly so for a man whose appearance is so utilitarian. Yan Qing’s aware of the pressure of Izou’s gaze on him as he bunches up the scarf in his fist and tugs it away without ceremony. His eyes land immediately on the newly-visible discolored ring of scar tissue that encircles Izou’s throat like a choker.

“How ‘bout it?” Izou is grinning lopsidedly at Yan Qing and puffs up his chest—as much as he can when he’s on his back—with bravado. “This’s how Manslayer Izou got hisself cut down.”

Izou tilts his head back against the pillow and with a staccato laugh, hard as a bark, makes a quick diagonal cutting motion across his throat with a finger. Yan Qing doesn’t know if Izou is always so cavalier about his death or if it’s the alcohol, and honestly, the answer doesn’t matter right now. They’re not here to talk about their regrets.

“Hope that scarf wasn’t the only thing keeping your head on, then,” Yan Qing says. “Decapitation ain’t my kinda thing.”

Something flashes across Izou’s eyes, but the corner of his mouth still twitches up. “You always such a heartless bastard?”

Yan Qing smiles, “Call it a character flaw.” 

A parting gift from a hapless lord.

All the same, Yan Qing’s got an idea about that scar and he wants to test it. He leans down and presses his lips—gently, his breath hot on Izou’s skin—against his neck. Yan Qing hears Izou suck in a breath and feels the motion his adam’s apple as he swallows hard. Then, delicately, Yan Qing slips his tongue out from between his lips and licks along the ragged path of the scar; Izou groans and jerks his hands up to grip Yan Qing’s shoulders. Just like he thought, then, the tissue must be sensitive somehow.

Izou throws his head back to give Yan Qing more access, and Yan Qing keeps it up by tracing the scar with the flat of his tongue and scraping some places with his teeth. Beneath him, Izou shivers and his nails dig half-moon furrows into Yan Qing’s tattooed shoulders; the combination of the sharp pricks of Izou’s nails on his shoulders and the dull scratching of Izou’s stubble against his cheeks makes Yan Qing hiss, and he grinds his arousal against Izou’s. Izou moves his hips upward in response, both of them desperate now for any sort of friction. 

Yan Qing’s hands roam as he works with his mouth. He slips them back into Izou’s clothes and fervently slides his palms up Izou’s torso and across the hard abdominal muscles. He gropes at Izou’s chest again and plays with Izou’s nipples as he sucks hickies on top of the scar. All the while, Izou moans loudly with his head thrown back and ruts against the inside of Yan Qing’s thigh. 

Yan Qing sits up now and leans back on his haunches; his hair, freed from the confines of the holder, fell forward when he was sucking at Izou’s neck and it flows like water over his shoulders, back, and chest. He impatiently blows a section away from his face as he shifts his focus to untying Izou’s hakama. It’s difficult with how the alcohol and lust clouding his brain make his fingers clumsy, and his hair keeps falling forward in front of his eyes to ghost across Izou’s skin. Izou makes a noise in the back of his throat as he squints up at Yan Qing. 

“What is it?” Yan Qing asks.

Izou reaches up, pulls a strand of Yan Qing’s hair through his thumb and forefinger, and mumbles, “You look like Ryoma’s woman.”

Yan Qing pauses and grins mischievously, “Oh? Do you want me to wear a skirt, then? That’d be fun.”

“Tch,” Izou sneers and rolls his eyes. “Shut up. Are we gonna do this, or are you gonna tease me the whole damn night?”

He rolls his hips forward hard and the pressure and friction make Yan Qing gasp. Yan Qing gets back to work with renewed vigor and, with Izou contributing this time, his clothes get pulled off and discarded on the floor in careless and quick movements. When the hakama comes off, a stab of arousal surges through Yan Qing as he notes the way Izou’s cock strains against his fundoshi and how there’s already a wet spot seeping through the fabric. Yan Qing pulls down the underwear and frees Izou’s cock, but gives it a quick, teasing tug just to make him want more. 

“Damn tease…” Izou mutters and bats at Yan Qing’s hand.

Yan Qing slips off the bed to pull off his own clothes which is short work on account of essentially being half-naked to begin with. Izou watches and raises an eyebrow when Yan Qing pulls down his silk trousers and his erection springs forward freely and unconstrained by any sort of underwear. Feeling there’s no explanation owed, Yan Qing just shrugs with a smile.

With both of them undressed now, Yan Qing climbs back up on the bed and settles between Izou’s legs. He leans forward on his knees and taps the side of Izou’s jaw.

“Open up.”

Izou narrows his eyes as if indignant but does as he’s told anyway. Yan Qing sticks two fingers into the wet heat of Izou’s mouth on top of his tongue. As Izou laps against Yan Qing’s fingers, Yan Qing imagines what it’d feel like to have that mouth around his cock instead. He moans at the image and his free hand briefly flits down to brush against his arousal, but he denies himself any sort of pressure to the touch. 

Deciding that things are good enough, Yan Qing pulls his slicked-up fingers out of Izou’s mouth and brings his hand down low between Izou’s legs. He presses lightly against Izou’s entrance, and Izou sighs and spreads his legs wider, bending one up at the knee. Yan Qing presses in then and begins working Izou open. In contrast to their earlier fervor, he’s going slowly; he’s getting distracted in the heightened sensations now and holds Izou’s drawn-up thigh with his free hand and presses kisses against his skin, every contact with bare skin irresistible.

Izou knocks Yan Qing’s lower back with the heel of his foot. “Damn it, hurry up.”

“Brat,” Yan Qing mutters under his breath.

Seriously, this guy is surprisingly demanding, and Yan Qing almost wants to go slower just to spite him. But then, at this point he really isn’t in the mood for waiting either. So, at Izou’s demand, Yan Qing draws his fingers out and brings his hand up to his own lips. He gathers saliva in his mouth and spits into his palm, then runs his hand up and down his cock to slick it as well as he can. Yan Qing hauls Izou’s hips up higher and lines himself up with Izou’s entrance before pushing in with one swift and hard motion that makes Izou cry out and arch his back off the mattress.

Yan Qing isn’t gentle and doesn’t hold back in setting a hard rhythm. He’s decided that if Izou wants it fast and rough so badly then he’s going to be feeling it tomorrow, even with a Servant’s body. Izou wraps his arms tightly around Yan Qing’s neck and drags him closer. His breath is hot as he pants and gasps against Yan Qing’s ear.

Izou rocks his hips up to meet Yan Qing’s thrusts and the bed frame rattles beneath the two of them with their intensity. The sound of skin-on-skin fills the room and it’s colored by Izou’s moans echoing off the walls; he’s loud, completely unrestrained, and all but straight-out yells when Yan Qing hits a certain spot inside of him. Yan Qing isn’t that quiet of a man himself, but whether or not he’s making any noise would hardly matter—Izou completely drowns him out. 

As their bodies come together again and again, Yan Qing’s enveloped in Izou’s burning heat; in the fragmented, incoherent babbling of Izou’s voice; in the taste of alcohol still on Izou’s tongue. It’s all Izou, Izou, Izou, and Yan Qing willingly loses himself in the passion. He presses himself closer to the Assassin beneath him and his hair falls forward, spreading out like slick oil, and covers them both like a shroud. 

Yan Qing mouths against Izou’s neck and jaw again, enjoying the grit of his stubble, when he feels something hot and wet drip onto the side of his nose. He assumes it’s sweat, but there’s another _plop_ and another, and it hits him that it has to be something else. Yan Qing pulls back to look at Izou’s face and stops in consternation as he registers the tears that are flowing down Izou’s flushed cheeks. 

“Hey, are you alright?”

Izou’s eyes flutter open at the sound of Yan Qing’s voice, and he turns his head towards him as his pupils slowly focus on Yan Qing’s furrowed brows. “What’re you askin’ that for?” His voice is hoarse. 

Yan Qing points to his own face, “You’re crying.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” Izou grumbles and narrows his eyes, but he brings a hand up to his cheek anyway. When his fingers touch the glistening tracks, he clicks his tongue and swipes the tears away. “Involuntary, ya know? Can’t help it—doesn’t mean anythin’.”

Yan Qing doesn’t say anything for a second—processing that Izou is the type to cry during sex, and that he looks kind of cute like this, with shining eyes, swollen lips, and a not-quite-scowl—and Izou huffs in annoyance. “You worried or somethin’? Where was that when you were being such a cold bastard, huh?” He tilts his head back to make sure Yan Qing catches sight of his scar. “So how many times do I hav’ta tell you to hurry up and fuck me?” 

Izou jerks Yan Qing back down on top of him, and against Izou’s ear Yan Qing murmurs, “You’re a pushy bastard.”

Yan Qing can feel the vibrations of Izou’s chest against his own as Izou gives a low and rough laugh. Izou wraps his arms around Yan Qing’s neck again and snakes his fingers up the back of Yan Qing’s head to tangle in and tug on his hair; Yan Qing moans as his hair is pulled and he rolls his hips forward to thrust into Izou.

They work back to their earlier hard pace and Yan Qing’s senses are filled once again with all of Izou. He presses his mouth to Izou’s, lets Izou’s tears roll onto his own face, and drinks down all Izou’s cries like the sweet sake that got them here. Yan Qing can feel his orgasm building low in his stomach, and from the way that Izou is shaking and gasping Yan Qing guesses that he must be getting close too. Yan Qing maneuvers a hand between their bodies and takes hold of Izou’s cock; it’s hard to move his hand when they’re pressed so close together, and the angle isn’t great, but it’s enough to make things work. The precum smears across Yan Qing’s palm and slicks his hand as he roughly jerks Izou off, and he doesn’t bother to time the motions to his thrusts, he’s just trying to give that extra stimulation to push Izou over the edge.

Izou doesn’t give any sort of warning before he comes, and his voice breaks as he screams and spills over Yan Qing’s hand and his own stomach. And it’s the sight of Izou’s ecstasy combined with the sharp pain of him pulling his hair harder than ever before that gives Yan Qing his release. Yan Qing buries his head in the crook of Izou’s neck as he comes inside of him, and they stay in that position for a bit as they ride out the aftershocks of their orgasms. Eventually, though, Izou shoves at Yan Qing’s shoulder and he gets the message to sit up and pull out.

Yan Qing pushes his hair back and away from his face with his clean hand—well, not like it matters, really, he’s definitely got cum in his hair already—as he sits up and moves to Izou’s side. Izou, on the other hand, seems content just to lay out on Yan Qing’s bed and pass out. Though, Yan Qing isn’t quite done yet.

“Izou.”

“Hn?”

He cracks an eye open at the sound of his name, but Yan Qing intends to have his full attention. He brings the hand covered in Izou’s release up to his mouth and licks a stripe up his palm, watching as Izou’s eyes—both open now—widen at the action. Yan Qing sucks on each of his fingers individually and makes sure that Izou can see his tongue slip out from between his lips as he licks at his hand. He drags his fingers across his lips and adds more flourish than is really necessary, all to ensure Izou’s attention. 

Once his hand is clean, and now that Izou is watching him with alertness, Yan Qing braces his arms on either side of Izou’s body and then bows down low over his stomach. Izou’s abdomen tenses as Yan Qing presses his tongue to his skin; Yan Qing carefully follows the contours of Izou’s muscles as he laps up the opaque fluid, and above him Izou hisses out a curse underneath his breath. He makes sure to get every drop, and when he’s finished he looks up at Izou through his hair, catches his gaze, and winks. Izou rolls his eyes.

However, he still has one last thing to do. Yan Qing raises himself up and crawls forward to be face-to-face with Izou. This close, Yan Qing can see the glistening tears still clumped in Izou’s eyelashes and drying, dark paths that run down and cut across the not yet faded pink glow of his cheeks. Yan Qing leans closer still and brings his hands up to the sides of Izou’s face and cradles his head with a firm grip. Then, gently, he draws the flat of his tongue along the paths of tears, and the salt of the tears mingles with the taste of Izou’s release in his mouth. Izou squirms a bit but doesn’t stop Yan Qing, and once again his hand finds the back of Yan Qing’s head to run his hand over his hair.

When he’s finished, Yan Qing takes one final liberty; he pulls his head back a few inches and then—quickly, impudently—kisses Izou on the lips. Just as quick, he flops backwards onto the mattress with a devious grin on his face and stretches his arms above his head. Izou squints at Yan Qing as if trying to decipher his own feelings, then snorts and shuts his eyes again.

“I don’t get you.”

Izou can’t see it, but Yan Qing’s still grinning. “So’s that a compliment?”


End file.
